LYRA‘S POV
The 7:45 AM ascent to the ridge canopy always felt like entering a different atmosphere, but today the physical transition was completely secondary to my internal momentum. I had operated on exactly zero hours of sleep, my system entirely sustained by the thermal energy of my father’s black coffee and a quiet, roaring triumph that the heavy bags under my eyes couldn't diminish.
When the valley transit bus hissed to a stop at the Garrison Heights main terminal, the damp morning mist was just beginning to burn off the glass facades of the campus.
Stepping onto the polished stone plaza, I expected the usual high-alert defensive sequence. I expected the immediate sideways glances, the low murmurs, and the casual, elitist friction that usually met a valley transfer at the gates. B
